


Extra Extra, Read All About It

by TheUnvanquishedZims



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, DC Comics References, Kent Parson Birthday Bash, M/M, Minor Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 16:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnvanquishedZims/pseuds/TheUnvanquishedZims
Summary: When Bitty moves to Metropolis to take a job at the Daily Well, supervillains become as routine as traffic jams and high rent prices. His coworker, mild-mannered reporter Kent Parson, is much more of a daily nuisance. But when the two are paired up on a joint assignment, will Bitty see a new side of Kent? Or will their partnership end up a super-disaster?





	Extra Extra, Read All About It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smilingpigeons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilingpigeons/gifts).



Eric had a new officemate, and he hated pie.

“Gotta watch my girlish figure, y’know!” he had said, winking and patting his stomach. His wink was obscured behind smudged glasses, heavy frames the wrong shape for his face. Whatever figure he had was likewise obscured beneath an oversized business suit, which seemed all the more out of place when contrasted with the casual dress code in their trendy Metropolis high-rise office.

The Daily Well was an up-and-coming media company trying to corner the market on local Metropolis news, without falling into the twin pits of traditional news stodginess and social media shallowness. It was a narrow tightrope to walk, but the right people kept them on track. Eric, who had been recruited as a food vlogger, was one of those people. According to the editors, newly-hired Kent Parson was another.

“I just don’t see it,” Eric complained. “He writes about sports. How is that cutting edge?”

“One, people read about sports, and we need readers if we want to get paid. Two, you film yourself baking cookies, how is that cutting edge? And three, I think you’re just mad because you don’t get to play your music as loud as you want it anymore.”

Sasha, co-editor-in-chief, laid down her fork and neatly wiped her mouth. “And on that subject, don’t think you can bribe your way out of this. Kent has a doctor’s note and I don’t feel like dragging this to HR. Wear headphones.”

“I DO wear headphones, he still complains! Either his hearing is freakishly good or he just wants me to suffer in silence.”

“Eric, you have never been silent about anything, and I don’t expect you to start now. Now! Back to work! You’ve got the Gastron Grill review due in an hour! And get me the recipe for this cobbler!” she shouted after his retreating back.

“Not on your life!” Eric hollered back, darting down the hall to the shoebox they tried to pass off as his office. It was cramped even before he had to share it with Kent, but downtown Metropolis real estate was some of the most expensive in the country, and the editors were determined to wring as much functionality out of every square foot that they could. The only upside to sharing work space with the sports reporter was that he was gone ninety percent of the time, busy attending football games or whatever it was he was paid to do when he wasn’t ruining Eric’s life.

Eric might have been a teeny bit biased.

He sighed as he plugged in his headphones. “We don’t even have an HR department,” he muttered, then shook his head and tried to focus on his work. He had a restaurant review for the Dining and Entertainment section to type, a vegan apple cake recipe to rework and film, and he still hadn’t managed to swing an invitation to the Knight-Duan wedding, but he could feel himself getting closer to the golden ticket with every phone call he made. He sighed again as he mentally sorted through his schedule, trying to figure out which assignment to prioritize.

Kent had it so easy with sports: you go to a game, interview the players, and write down who won. It was the same across the board. Eric had no such pattern. He started as a food vlogger writing recipes, then branched out into Nutrition and Health. From there he made the jump to Dining and Entertainment, and while it was great being paid to listen to all the new albums, see all the new movies, and eat at all the hottest restaurants, that still split his attention in too many directions.

He’d thought that he’d found his niche with Lifestyles, using his social skills and southern charm to weasel his way into invitations to the major Metropolis social events, but it was a massive city and he was just one reporter among hundreds. Now he juggled food, entertainment, and a few local celebrity weddings to round things out.

“I need to focus,” he moaned, bonking his head against his keyboard. The apples for the cake had been sitting on his counter for a week, he’d been too hysterical to bake with the new Beyonce/Jay-Z album dropping, and while his editors claimed they appreciated his enthusiasm they made him rewrite the album review four times before publishing. He really should film that segment before the apples spoiled.

Oh but there was a new club opening tonight, and a bouncer tipped him off that the Knight bachelor party might be held there. He knew the bouncer from the gym, she might get him in the door and from there hopefully into the VIP section. Anything he could wring out of the groomsmen would help fill out the wedding article with exclusive details. Assuming he would even get an invite to the wedding, he was three degrees away from someone with decision-making powers, but the cobbler he brought to a children’s ballet recital this morning had garnered him a promising phone number, just a few more calls would surely do it. But first he had to finish typing the Gastron Grill review. “Focus. Focus. Focus.”

“It might help if you weren’t listening to such loud music,” Kent remarked mildly from behind him.

“Screw you Parson, I’ve got my headphones on.” Eric spun around and slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes going wide. “Oh my Lord, I did not just say that out loud. Goodness, I am so sorry!”

“You kiss your mother with that potty mouth? For shame, Eric, for shame.” Kent shook his head as he dropped into his chair, knees almost brushing Eric’s as he maneuvered around to settle at his desk. Their office really was too small for two people, they were practically back-to-back when they were both at their desks like this.

“Oh good grief, I’ve heard you say a million cuss words when there’s a heat wave, don’t you shame me for one little slip-up.”

“You’ve never had to sit in traffic in a hundred degree heat for an hour because the Lax Bois smashed up a subway track, don’t give me crap for cussing. I almost got sent home for that, I was sweating so much.”

“Well maybe if you actually dressed for the weather you wouldn’t need to stink up the place,” Eric said, pointedly side-eyeing Kent’s suit. It was an argument they’d had before and a guaranteed point in his favor. They both knew how awful Kent looked in the potato sacks he tried to pass off as suits, but he still wouldn’t let Eric suggest some styling changes, even for a video segment.

Kent was about to shoot some excuse back when he saw something on Eric’s desk and faltered. “What’s that number?”

“Hmm? Oh, I scored that this morning! It’s a lead for the Knight-Duan wedding, I had to promise so many birthday cupcakes but it was actually a blueberry cobbler that did the trick in the end, you might have seen the leftovers in the lunch room…?”

Kent was staring at the paper like he was trying to burn holes in it with his eyes. Eric picked it up and held it protectively to his chest, bringing the full force of Kent’s stare with it. He faltered a little under the unexpected intensity of Kent’s gaze, suddenly aware of the scant inches between them. “Anyway, I—I had better follow up on this before the trail gets cold, and you should try some cobbler before it gets cold, and speaking of cold it’s getting awfully warm in here, I’m going to just take this call outside!”

\---

Kent watched Eric scurry off, wondering if the dweeb had any idea whose number he was about to call. Leaning across the aisle he shut off Eric’s music, turning on his own computer to type up the Meteors piece. He hesitated though, still fixated on the idea of Eric’s call. Reaching a quick decision, he settled back in his chair, focused his attention on the roof, and _listened_.

\---

“ _Hello?_ ”

“ _Hi, this is Eric, I got your number from Sepideh, Leilah’s mother? I just saw them at ballet, and she thought you’d be interested in a recipe_ -”

“ _I’m busy_.”

“ _Oh I’m sorry to bother you, would another time_ -”

“ _I’m not interested in a recipe, I have cooks for that_.”

“ _Well actually I was callin’ to ask a lil favor, you see there’s this wedding coming up and_ -”

“ _Shitty’s wedding_?”

“ _I—excuse me, I’m sure it will be a LOVELY wedding, Miss Duan has famously good taste and_ -”

“ _No, no, I meant…eugh, Miss Duan and Mr. Knight’s wedding, yes, it will be good_.”

“ _Oh wonderful! I was actually hoping to be able to see it myself, I’ve heard it’s going to be quite the shindig_ -”

“ _If you’re not on the guest list they probably don’t want you there. Sorry_.”

“ _No, wait, I’m not interested in attending as a guest, you see I’m_ —”

“ _Are you a reporter_?”

“— _working for an up-and-coming publication_ —”

“ _Are you a reporter_?”

“— _we’ve done several write-ups for events like these_ —”

“ _Are! You! A! Reporter!_ ”

“ _Don’t take that tone with me mister_.”

“ _Uh_.”

“ _And yes, I work for the Daily Well_.”

“ _Gotham doesn’t have a publication by that name, I’d know about it_.”

“ _We’re not a Gotham paper, we’re based out of Metropolis_.”

“ _Oh. Good. Give me your email, I’ll send you a press pass for the wedding. The more the merrier, eh_?”

“ _Oh, I—alright_?”

\---

Three floors down, Kent fell out of his chair laughing. Never change, Zimms, never change.

\---

An hour later Eric had a completed review for the Gastron Grill, a press pass for the Knight-Duan wedding, and an explanation.

“I spend three weeks slaving over my oven to bribe my way into high society, and they’re inviting every publication in Metropolis to cover it?” he complained to the office at large.

Sasha shrugged and poured him more coffee. “It’s a big deal, a billionaire heir marrying a known metahuman. Most people don’t even like acknowledging that metahumans exist outside of gangs like the Lax Bois, and Knight’s been big on making them sit up and pay attention. You know he’s got an entire foundation set up just getting super people in touch with legal advocates?”

“I don’t think they like being called supers, Sasha,” Kent called from his office.

_Freakishly good hearing_ , Eric mouthed at her.

Sasha rolled her eyes at both of them. “Anyway, Knight wants the word out, so every media monger in Metropolis and Gotham will be there. It’s almost not worth doing anymore.”

“Oh it is!” Eric hurried to assure her. He’d busted his tail trying to get in, he wasn’t going to let it slip away now.

“If you say so, but remember: we’re cutting edge. ‘Local billionaire weds metahuman’ won’t cut it, everyone’s doing that. I want a fresh angle, something none of the other papers has. Can you get that?”

“I have a lead on where the bachelor party will be, I’m going there tonight to scope it out. If they’re there I should blend right in and be able to get some juicy details.”

“And if they’re not there we’re paying you to waste the night clubbing.” Sasha raised an eyebrow at him, face becoming less amused by the second. While that was technically true, Eric scrambled to cover.

“I’m pulling double duty, reviewing the club opening and keeping tabs on the crowd for more leads! This could be a great resource for the Lifestyles page, the Knights aren’t the only rich family to be invited, and I’ve heard at least ten celebrities are confirmed for the guest list tonight.”

“Just keep it classy, we’re not a tabloid. I don’t want articles about some rich socialite flashing her panties or spilling her drink on a pop star. And I especially don’t want YOU to be the one spilling your drink either. No repeats of the Titanium incident.”

Eric swallowed hard, remembering how close he had come to losing his job that night.  “I will be as sober as a church mouse, Sasha, believe it.”

“I do believe it, because you’re taking Kent with you.”

“What?!” they both yelped, Kent a fraction of a second after Eric.

“But my hearing! I have a doctor’s note!” Kent yelled with dismay, scrambling out of his office.

“Buy some earplugs!” Sasha called over her shoulder, heels clicking away to her office and shutting the door firmly behind her.

Eric and Kent stared in disbelief for a long moment. Kent broke the silence first.

“I am not going to a club.”

“Not dressed like that you’re not,” Eric said with another sideways look. Time for the company credit card.

\---

“I’m not wearing this!” Kent yelled from inside the dressing room.

“Let me see it!” Eric yelled back. He’d fixed a few fashion disasters for articles, but Kent was on a whole other level. Everything about his wardrobe seemed to be designed to be as drab as possible. He wasn’t even a hipster, he was just thirty years and two sizes out of synch with the rest of the fashion world.

“I don’t know why I can’t wear a suit! We want to look nice, right? Suits are nice.”

“Dress suits are nice, this gray wool snowsuit you’ve been wearing doesn’t count. And we don’t want to look nice, we want to look hot. The key is to get into the club, not get stuck outside with the wannabes.” Eric forged on before Kent could come up with another comeback. “Are these suspenders? I’m burning them.”

“Don’t!”

Eric blinked as Kent materialized next to him, snatching the suspenders out of his hand fast enough to give him friction burn. The fitting room door banged into the wall belatedly, serving as punctuation to his shock.

“Seriously man, this was my dad’s suit, don’t mess with it.”

“You should have left it in his closet,” Eric fired back automatically. His brain was having difficulty processing what he was seeing.

“He died,” Kent said shortly.

“Should have buried him in it then, bless his heart.” Kent’s eyes were back on him again with the same burning intensity from the morning, though Eric could have sworn they were more blue and less orange earlier. Eric’s brain caught up to what he said and he started babbling to cover his mortification. “Seriously, the 80s ended three decades ago, this style was dead before either of us were even born, sentiment is sweet but you really need to update your wardrobe, ditch the suits, maybe go for the hipster look if you want to keep the suspenders, be five years out of date instead of fifty.”

“I’m not getting rid of my suits,” Kent said, glare kicking up a notch as he stepped closer to loom into Eric’s space. The glasses did nothing to take the edge off, leaving Eric wondering where his mild-mannered office mate had disappeared to.

“Okay,” he said, meekly lowering his gaze. That put him back in his original position though: staring at Kent’s abs through a lavender mesh shirt.

“And I’m not wearing this either,” Kent snapped, whirling around and struggling out of it on his way back to the dressing room.

“No, it makes you look like Earring Magic Ken,” Eric agreed placidly, transfixed by the sight of Kent’s back and shoulders flexing as the shirt came up over his head, landing on the floor as he disappeared behind the fitting room door again. Really, where had all those muscles come from? How was Eric just now noticing them? Dead father aside, those suits needed to be burned as a crime against humanity.

It took another two hours and four stores, but they settled on something Eric was confident would get them in the door. It helped that he knew the Charlie from the gym, but there was only so much a bouncer would overlook in the name of friendship and fresh-made granola. The glasses might be pushing it.

“At least clean them,” he begged Kent as they pulled up at the door. It was already dark out, towering skyscrapers casting an early twilight with their shadows. The neon lights of the club stood out like a lighthouse above the waves of people crowding outside. Cameras flashed intermittently, camera phones and paparazzi alike trying to catch a glimpse of the VIPs being escorted in before the official opening time.

“What?” Kent said, earplugs already firmly in.

Eric sighed and snatched them off Kent’s face, wiping them clean on the edge of his blue lace shirt. He’d foregone the usual bowtie and swapped out his regular jeans for tight white slacks. He looked fantastic and he knew it. As for Kent…

They both seemed to hold their breath as he slid the glasses back onto Kent’s face, fingertips barely brushing his temples. Eric had to fight the urge to muss his hair while his hands were there, but the snapback he’d talked Kent into cost a full day’s salary and he didn’t want to risk it falling off. His eyes seemed to change color in the neon lights, now green, now blue. They were beautiful, even behind the boxy black frames. His outfit was a masterwork, and Eric felt comfortable congratulating himself on it. Black button-down with a skeletal rib cage print wrapped around the chest, flowers embroidered over the top like they were growing there. Sleeves rolled up, black jeans fitting nicely over Kent’s surprisingly solid legs, white shoes making the whole outfit pop and matching Eric’s pants. Eric couldn’t decide if he looked like a movie star or a horror novelist, but either way it was working for him.

Getting in was easier than Eric had imagined, they strolled up to the door arm-in-arm and the velvet rope was gone from their path before he could lift a hand in greeting. “Thanks Charlie,” he giggled, feeling a little drunk off the noisy crowd around them. More than a few of those camera flashes were directed their way. And then they were in.

Eric had never been to a club before opening, he had expected it to be mostly empty, with a DJ still warming up and a handful of people milling around. Apparently the upper crust has higher standards, as the place was already half-filled with the gorgeous young elite of Metropolis. He recognized models from the advertisements that ran in the Well, and at least one group that were dressed similarly enough to be in a band together. Kent nudged him and pointed to a group of rowdy young men at the bar, from the excitement on his face Eric was guessing they played for one of the local sports teams. Music was pumping through the club, lights wavering with the beat, giving the air a dreamlike haze.

Not all of that haze was from the lights, come to think of it. The smell alone told him that. Eric tried to casually trace the wisps of smoke back to their origin without staring, eyes skipping up and over to the upper deck, and found himself gazing up at none other than Mr. Knight. Or rather, Mr. Knight’s hairy naked torso.

“Jackpot,” he muttered, nudging Kent.

Kent glanced back and up too, cringing the same way Eric had when he saw how much skin was on display behind the cloud of smoke the billionaire’s booth was shrouded in. His attention wavered though, and he seemed to be more taken with something a bit beyond the cloud. Eric tried to follow his gaze, eyes landing on a stern-looking man in a simple black suit. He turned to ask Kent who the man was, only to find that Kent was already striding over to the stairs leading to the upper deck.

Eric caught up at the foot of the stairs, where another layer of security and another velvet rope waited. Judging from the flat look and folded arms, this bouncer wasn’t going to be won over with granola, or even the hundred-dollar bill Eric had for emergency bribing. Kent stepped right up to him though, smirking and gesturing as casually as could be. The bouncer turned, revealing the stern man coming down the stairs behind him. The rope disappeared and the bouncer waved them past.

“Zimms,” Kent greeted.

“Kent,” Zimms said tersely back. “What are you doing here?”

“Just showing my boo a good time,” Kent said with an easy smirk, slinging an arm around Eric’s waist and dragging him close. Two hours ago Eric would have killed to be pressed this close to Kent’s sculpted chest, surprisingly strong hand wrapped around his hip, fingers making the barest teasing skin contact through the lace of his shirt. But the sheer awkwardness of having his most annoying coworker trying to fake a relationship with him out of the blue was killing Eric’s cool, and he found himself shaking his head.

Zimms raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Kent. Kent’s arm tightened almost painfully before releasing Eric. “Okay, fine. I’m here for work.”

“Thought so,” Zimms grunted, turning to march back up the stairs.

“Not like that!” Kent chased after him, and Eric, not knowing what else to do, followed. “I’m here to keep an eye on Eric, make sure he doesn’t get wasted on the company dime.”

“I don’t do that! You take that back!”

But Kent and Zimms were already disappearing around a corner, too fast for Eric to follow in the small crowd. It was surprising how quickly and easily the larger men could navigate a room full of people. Belatedly, Eric realized he was already in the midst of the bachelor party that he had come to sneak into. He didn’t feel as triumphant as he thought he would. Sighing, he pasted on a smile and tried to blend in with the revelers around him.

For a bachelor party, there were a surprisingly large number of women, and unlike the stripper-themed bachelor parties his relatives tended to throw, they all had their clothes on. Mr. Knight himself was more naked than anyone present. He was also gesturing Eric over. Eyes widening, Eric took a breath of clean air and waded into the cloud.

“Hey bro, you here with Kent?”

“Y-yes! Do you know him?”

“Oh yeah, he and Jack go way back.” Mr. Knight took a drag. “They were friends for a few years before Jack and I met, back when the Zimmermanns lived in Montreal. Surprised to see Kent here though.”

“Jack—Jack Zimmermann?” Eric repeated, sure his ears were playing tricks on him. “The billionaire Jack Zimmermann? That was him?”

“Yeah, man, he’s my best man! Though I might SWAP with LARISSA if he doesn’t QUIT DITCHING ME!” Mr. Knight yelled in the general direction of where they’d disappeared. He turned back and chuckled at the stricken look on Eric’s face. “I’m just kidding bro, he and Kent need to catch up, dude barely gets out of Gotham as it is.”

“I thought he lived in a cave,” Eric blurted out, turning red as Mr. Knight started howling with laughter. “Oh Lord, ignore me Mr. Knight, I must be getting a contact high or something, I am never normally this rude.”

“Aw, you precious little sunflower of honesty, be as rude as you like. And hey, contact highs are less fun than the real thing, eh?”

Eric, still red, waved away the offered joint. “No, no, I’m here for work, if I get stoned as soon as Kent ditches me I’ll only prove them right.”

“S’cool, bro, s’cool, you do you.” A deep drag was interrupted as Mr. Knight suddenly sat up and glared at Eric. “Hey what was that thing you said?”

“Oh? Uh…” Eric squirmed. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. “I—I’m here for work?”

“No, the other thing!”

“Uh…Jack Zimmermann lives in a cave in Gotham?”

“No, the other thing!” Mr. Knight was starting to look pissed off now, and Eric was panicking as the party’s attention started to shift their way.

“I’m sorry for being so rude Mr. Knight, I must be getting a contact high?!”

“THAT’S IT!”

Everyone in the surrounding booths was looking at them now. Eric could see security starting up the stairs, but if he was lucky he’d just die of embarrassment before they threw him out. Mr. Knight’s finger was pointing accusingly in his face, and as Eric watched he raised his finger to the ceiling, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath to yell again. His eyes snapped open as his open hand snapped down in front of Eric.

“CALL ME SHITTY!” he bellowed.

The group around them laughed, clearly used to this phrase. Eric realized that he was being offered a handshake, and he meekly took it. “Um, I’m Eric?”

“Nice to meet you bro! Any friend of Kent’s is a friend of mine!” Mr. K—Shitty shook his hand forcefully. Security had vanished back down the stairs, and conversations were starting to flow around them again. “Man I’m starving, do they have anything to eat around here? Waffles, waffles, I’d kill for waffles.”

“Waffles sound amazing right now,” Eric agreed, and they actually did. Styling Kent had taken up his entire afternoon, he hadn’t had time to grab a bite to eat. Or do any of the other food-related things on his list, come to think of it. “I need to bake an apple cake!”

“That sounds even better! Where do you bake in this club?” Shitty called to one of the bottle-carrying women hovering near the table.

She responded with a nervous smile. “Aren’t you baking right now?”

“I just need an oven,” Eric said as Shitty facepalmed.

“Oh, they have ovens in the kitchen, but I’m not sure—”

“TO THE KITCHEN!” Shitty bellowed, bouncing out of the booth and storming towards the stairs. Eric followed the call like the siren song it was.

\---

“Fake boyfriend Kenny? Really?”

“Hey, if he could keep a straight face it might have worked. Admit it, you were jealous for a second there.”

“I’ve got better things to do than be jealous of my ex.”

“…Wait, jealous of _me_? Why?”

“For dating that cute blond guy?”

“You—seriously? You’re not jealous of him for dating me?”

“No, why would I be? I already dated you.”

“You’re a real piece of work, Zimmermann.”

“Kenny, Kenny wait. We still—”

“Shut up.”

“No, we have to—”

“Shut up! Do you hear that?”

\---

Eric was sorting through bar food ingredients when it hit. Shitty knocked him down, and at first he thought it was just the weed making things go wobbly, but the cooks and servers that Shitty was waving money at had also fallen. Screams rang out from the club, and hidden behind the safety of the kitchen doors Eric was able to glimpse what was going on.

“It’s the Lax Bois,” he called in disgust, trying to assess the damage.

Several stick-wielding figured in matching uniforms were making their way through the club, flicking small glowing boom balls between them. One swung his stick in a sharp throw, flinging his ball to the ground with another earth-shaking explosion. More screams rang out as the fire forced the club goers back into a huddle.

“Looks like it’s a holdup, but they’re not being shy about property damage,” he reported back to the kitchen crew.

“Police are on their way,” one of the chefs whisper-shouted from their station next to the kitchen phone.

Yelling from the dance floor dragged Eric’s attention away, his nosy reporter instincts getting the better of him. He slithered back over to the door, but even propping it open a few inches couldn’t make the words clearer. Biting his lip, he glanced back at the kitchen crew. At least five people shook their heads at him, several trying to gesture him back to where they were slipping out the back door. Looking between them and the kitchen door, Eric made his decision. Slipping back into the club felt like suicide, and he was really regretting the flashy white pants, but as long as he kept behind the overturned tables near the door he should be fine.

“—and as long as nobody causes any trouble, you should get out of here alive!”

It seemed to be their standard holdup lines. The Lax Bois had been around for a couple years now, long enough for people to grow accustomed to their style of mayhem. Eric counted five seconds before the next boom ball went off, followed by crowing, howling, and more shouted threats from the gang. Predictable, really. But they were true to their word, as long as the people they robbed cooperated there shouldn’t be any casualties.

“Stop right there!”

Eric risked popping his head up over the table at the shout. Everyone’s attention was on the figure dropping down from the skylight. No, not dropping… floating?

The music had cut off when a bomb took out the DJ booth, but the lights were still going, sending flashes of blue, red, and green across the sleek black figure hovering in the middle of the club. The lights picked out the sharp silver accents on his body suit, particularly the large silver spade with black markings on it in the middle of his chest.

There was a frozen moment where everyone stared at the newcomer, before three Lax Bois simultaneously flung their balls at him. He caught two but the third slammed him right in the center of the spade. Eric screamed before he could stop himself, along with several other people. He’d seen what those tiny balls could do to a human body.

But not this body, apparently. The ball exploded in his chest, knocking him back a couple feet but not even causing a scratch of damage in the process. The two he was holding exploded harmlessly as well, leaving his with nothing but smoking hands.

“That all you got?” he called loudly. In a very recognizable voice.

Eric would have groaned if he hadn’t been choked by a stick across his windpipe, dragging him out from his hiding place and into the arms of one of the more observant Lax Bois. But even the threat of imminent death wasn’t enough to distract him from the burning annoyance he felt.

Kent Freaking Parson. Of course.

Kent “I have a doctor’s note that says you can’t listen to loud music” Person, floating in the middle of an explosion.

Kent “I wear baggy clothes because I have no fashion sense” Parson, wearing a figure-hugging body suit.

Kent “I can’t take my glasses off I need them to see” Parson, floating bare-faced in the middle of a hostage crisis, staring straight at Eric from across the room.

Really, he wasn’t even wearing a mask. Who did he think he was fooling?

“I don’t know who you are—!”

“I’m Ace,” Kent said, still staring at Eric. It was probably meant to be a bold proclamation, but with his attention fixed on Eric it came out sounding flat.

“—but you have two seconds to get on the floor before I pop this twink’s head open!”

Half of Eric’s vision was taken up by the glow of the boom ball being dangled next to his head, but that just meant Kent should be able to see his face clearly. Hopefully he could read lips well enough that Eric’s mouthed “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU” message got across.

“I’ll kill him man! I’m not joking!”

“I know you’re not,” Kent said flatly. He was suddenly inches away, close enough that the spade on his outfit dominated Eric’s vision. The black markings turned out to be a large stylized A. Really, Eric thought as his ears were filled with Lax Boi screaming and a muffled explosion, this boy had no subtlety. Between the smoke from the explosion and the stick being suddenly removed from his windpipe, Eric’s coughing fit doubled him over hard enough hit his forehead on Kent’s chest. It hurt.

“Kent?” he managed to wheeze.

“Ace,” came the terse response, Kent glaring across the room at where the other hostages were being grabbed. His eyes were glowing orange again. Eric was almost afraid to find out what they could do. Fortunately, the arrival of another metahuman saved him from having to find out.

Another dramatic entrance, another sleek body suit, this one in blues and whites. A path of ice cut before the figure, materializing under Lax Bois feet and making them slip and drop their hostages. A few boom balls rolled free in the process, but Kent seemed to be everywhere, a blur of movement snatching them up and absorbing their explosive blasts before they could detonate on the ground. The Lax Bois distracted, the crowd of hostages broke free of the ring and stampeded for the exits, some racing past Eric to the kitchen.

He didn’t bother following, things seemed to be wrapping up in the club. The Lax Bois were being knocked down as soon as they could find their footing on the ice, blue-and-white figure skating into them in vicious body checks, sending them flying. Kent swooped around catching boom balls before they landed and making sure people weren’t being trampled on their way out.

The blue-and-white figure slid up to Eric, skates sending up a spray of ice. He noted that this one at least had the good sense to keep his face covered, even if it looked like a modified hockey helmet with an opaque face plate.

“Citizen,” the man began.

“Zimmermann,” Eric shot back.

The cringe that earned him almost made him regret it, but really there was a limit on how ridiculous a secret metahuman billionaire was allowed to be, and playing superhero in a hockey helmet crossed the line for Eric.

Zimmermann rallied though, and even without being able to see his eyes Eric could feel the glare. Before either of them could say anything though, there was an arm around Eric’s waist, pulling him close.

“Relax man, he’s with me,” Kent—Ace—Kenny said with an easy smirk.

This time, Eric nodded.

\---

“Eric, it’s 3am, this had better be good.”

“The Lax Bois attacked the Knight bachelor party and were defeated by costumed metahumans.”

“…stop the presses.”

\---

It was a big jump, from Entertainment, Nutrition, and Lifestyles to the front page. But with bruises still across his throat and a gilt-edged invitation to the Knight-Duan wedding in his pocket, Eric felt he’d earned it.

“This is the biggest news to hit Metropolis since, well, the Lax Bois. We’re getting calls from all the major outlets trying to pick up the story.” Sasha was clearly over the moon. “Our subscriptions jumped by six thousand percent. Advertising is through the roof. And judging from what you’ve already written, I estimate that we can wring another ten days of news stories out of this. Do you know what this means?”

“You’re going to comp me for the club outfits I bought?” Eric guessed.

“We can get more office space!” Sasha squealed. “Also, no, you pay for your own clothes, really, a two hundred dollar snapback? What were you thinking?”

“Just trying to make Kent a little more fashionable.”

“A lost cause, really.”

“I heard that!”

“Freakishly good hearing,” Eric muttered, knowing for sure this time that Kent could hear him.

“On that note. Eric, this is a massive accomplishment, and it’s done wonders for the Daily Well. I’d be happy to offer you a new office in our expansion.”

His own office again. Being able to listen to his music without headphones. Not having to see those hideous suits every day. Space to move without bumping knees with Kent.

“Actually… I like my office. I think I’ll stay.”

\---

“I can’t believe you turned it down, man,” Kent lamented the next time they backed into each other. “We could have been free.”

“Oh hush, you know you like it. Pie?”

“No thanks, need to watch my figure you know,” Kent said with a wink and a pat to his stomach.

“I do that enough for both of us. Have a slice.”

“Well…maybe just one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kent in glasses: https://go-topshelf-on-chowder.tumblr.com/post/175378180270/zombizombi-look-a-not-tiny-version-of-this?is_highlighted_post=1
> 
> Earring Magic Kent: http://kvparson90.tumblr.com/post/161476055523/kidneypunches-iamneversleepingagain  
> http://softygold.tumblr.com/post/164348578187/justwritins-and-i-were-talking-about-earring
> 
> Eric's club outfit: https://www.aliexpress.com/item/2014-NEW-Sexy-Perspective-Lace-Dress-Shirt-Fashion-Cool-Men-Club-Wear-Trendy-Shirt-Hot-Selling/1736510453.html


End file.
